Shopped

Let's not be delicate about this.

If you enter a grocery store at four minutes to closing time, grab a shopping cart and trundle along the aisles as you unfold a wrinkled shopping list, there are eyes on you. The store's staff don't just think you're an asshole, they know you are. If you, the asshole, are a man of a reasonably attractive build and you piss off the male night manager, the lone male cashier working in the store that time of night and the male grocery clerk, all ready to blow off steam after a long shift, you might find out that some people have a special use for assholes.

The night manager's voice interrupts the inane music coming through the loudspeakers. "The store is now closing. Please bring your purchases to check-out. Thank you."

You don't care about their time or their enthusiasm for going home or doing whatever they do when their shift is over. You only know that you need eggs, milk, bread and cheese along with the sundries already in your cart. Let them wait, you say to yourself. They can count their overtime in pennies. These minimum wage workers are always complaining they don't make enough. You tell yourself you're doing them a favour by running them past the end of their shift.

When at last you have everything on your list, it's ten minutes past closing time. As you approach the cashier, you barely notice he's glaring at you. You don't know his name is Murph, that he's a university student who needs every extra minute for study or that he is under a lot of stress right now, but you wouldn't care anyway. You see the grocery clerk standing by the door. You have never been acquainted with Ty, so you don't know that thanks to you, he's not getting laid tonight because his wife goes to bed early for a four a. m. shift at the Hospital where she works. You casually observe that the night manager is looking at you, but you take no significance from the fact. You should. That manager, Tom, is fiercely loyal to his employees and has a peculiar way of balancing the scales sometimes when he thinks they've been taken for granted or abused.

"Did you find everything you were looking for tonight?" Murph asks.

"I guess. Everything costs too much though," you complain.

"That's it, Ty," Tom says with an exasperated tone. "Is the door locked?"

"Yes," Ty chimes in. When he says nobody is getting in... or out, everyone believes him. He's not only locked the door, but he's a six-foot-three-inch ebony giant with a shaved head and tattoos that show below his short-sleeved and muscular arms.

For the first time, you gather from the tone of the men that you've pissed them off in a big way.

When Murph grins, you know it for sure.

"Look," you say, "what's up?"

"Kill the lights," Tom says. Ty moves to a panel behind a retail display near the front door and hits a switch. There is an audible thunk as the store's main lights go dark. The only illumination remaining is from the refrigerated and frozen food cases. It's enough to see by, but to the outside world, the store looks closed.

"Murph, leave your till open. This shopper likes to make purchases after hours. Let's indulge him and see what else he needs."

You're unsettled now. You crossed off everything on your list and you just want to check out and go home to your wife and your TV. You start to say something but Tom holds up a hand and you fall silent so he can speak.

"A guy like you must not be able to resist a bargain if he complains about the prices."

"Uh, I guess."

"Well, here's a deal for you. You can kiss Ty's ass there or I'm gonna shit down your neck. What's the better deal?"

You're shocked. You've gone through life pushing people's buttons and getting away with it because you're a willful personality and somewhat physically imposing. You're not used to people who push back. And you're certainly not used to there being three people doing the pushing. You're starting to realize you came into this store with the wrong attitude entirely.

"Look, I'm sorry I came in so late, and maybe made you guys go home late too. I just wasn't thinking."

"Well, that's fine, isn't it, Murph? Ty?" Tom said. "We understand. Apology accepted. But if we let this go too easy, you're not really going to have learned from the experience are you?"

You don't know what to expect now. But you should. Tom was perfectly clear.

"Okay, just leave the cart and follow us back here. Don't worry, your milk won't be out long enough to go sour."

You are apprehensive. "I... I don't want to follow you."

"Well, that's okay. Sometimes after closing, people like you come to the door hoping someone will let them in to get that 'one thing' they need. They stare in the doors looking to see someone. If they come tonight, they're going to see me taking a dump on your face while Ty and Murph hold you down. Is that really what you want?"

"No," you moan.

"Then you'd better come on. Wise choice not to limit your options."

You only now realize you've been white-knuckling the handle of the shopping cart. As you release it, you feel a little dizzy, but you put one foot in front of the other and follow Tom as Murph and Ty fall in behind you. You disappear down the darkness of the aisles and note, absurdly, the store's loudspeaker is still pouring out pop hits. What will happen to you and will these horrible songs be the soundtrack of your demise? You reflect that you were an asshole to these guys in a broad sense, but you can't imagine how they will make you pay for it.

"Okay," Tom said. "Stop here. Take your clothes off."

"I--I don't want to."

"Then get on your knees and open wide. I've been holding one back for hours and this part of the store is a blind spot for the cameras until the repair guys arrive on Friday, so we're not being recorded and I'm not going to be shy. It would be your word against ours if you ever made a complaint."

Murph and Ty stepped in close to you at that moment. You realize you really don't have much choice if you don't want to eat excrement. Despite the way you come on strong with people, you're full of insecurities. You are rarely naked in front of anyone but your wife, reluctant to use public change rooms at gyms or swimming pools. You feel like your cock is too small to match your personality. Sometimes you know in your heart that your persona is adopted to compensate for your four-inch dick.

Now that you're naked, you feel humiliated. You can't imagine it getting much worse, but you know that it will.

Tom speaks up. "Okay, come over hear and kneel down. Ty will get in front of you and bend over this pallet of potatoes. He'll drop his pants."

For a moment, you think you're fucking the large black man, but you're an idiot.

"You'll start by kissing his butt cheeks all over and then you're going to eat his asshole."

You blanche in horror, but even worse, the blood from your face seems to have gone somewhere else. You've had fantasies occasionally, and while this isn't a dream come true, there are some parallels. Your cock is engorging with blood and everyone here is going to see.

"Ah, that's good. You're into it. That's okay, we'll just have to work harder to punish you."

Ty steps between you and the pallet covered four feet high in bags of potatoes. He unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down in front of you, letting them bunch up around his knees. You can see the outline of his massive dick in his underwear. Why does that interest you? He doesn't reveal any more of it though, instead pivoting so that he can pull down his boxers and expose his ass to you. When he leans forward over the sacks on the pallet, you're impressed by the tight cheeks.

"You have your instructions," Tom said.

You lean in, ashamed to be kissing ass literally, submissive to a minimum wage worker in a grocery store. And yet, your erection is unflagging. It throbs between your legs. You choose not to understand.

You pucker up and tickle that ass with your lips, touching it everywhere and when Tom tells you to lick the buttocks, you comply, bathing the muscular cheeks with your saliva. He lets you humiliate yourself in this manner for a few short minutes and then he says that he thinks you got it all. Time to move in on the asshole.

This troubles you greatly. You're squeamish and you don't have a strong stomach. What if the orifice smells or tastes bad, especially since it must have been eight or ten hours since the grocery clerk last had a shower. And how many shits did he need to take in that time? How well does he wipe?

"Do I have to?"

"Well, we're reasonable people here," Tom said. "If you want, you can use some whipped cream to make the job more... palatable."

"Yes, please."

"Murph, grab a can out of the coolers."

The cashier complies. A moment later, you are gratefully tearing the plastic top off the can and filling the crack between Ty's cheeks with a cloud of the white topping.

"Fuck, that's cold," Ty said.

"Sorry," you say sheepishly.

"You better do a good job to make this worth my while."

And strangely, you find you want to do a good job for him. You don't just need to in order to keep Tom's shit out of your mouth, but you feel some need in yourself being met by this action. It's impossible.

The whipped cream is light and sweet in your mouth and you don't taste Ty's ass. You only feel the matted-down hairs in his hole swirling on your taste buds and the ridges of his anus against your tongue. Your erection pulses slightly in anticipation of what's next.

After a few minutes and several sprays of whipped cream, Ty groans and says he has had enough of that. He says he wants something else.

"What do you want, Ty?" Tom asks playfully.

"I want to take him in the ass."

"Well, it would be rude not to ask him seeing as eating your asshole gave him a boner."

You're fiercely embarrassed, but you're flushed with a strange and unfamiliar need at the same time.

"I don't know if I can do it," you say.

"You worry too much. A hard cock can go in any asshole, but maybe you'd like a little lube for it. Well, we don't sell personal lubes in the grocery store, but we do have a few suitable substitutes. May I suggest the virgin coconut oil? Melts at body temperature, so you can just pack it in your ass before you... pack one in your ass."

Murph obliges by running off to the aisle where the item is stocked and quickly returns with a jar of the substance, handing it to Tom who passes it on to you.

"Do you know you're quite a sight? Your beard is matted down with whipped cream and that look reminds me of something we will get around to sooner or later. For now, oil up."

You've never lubed your ass before. You want to be thorough and before you're done, you find your fingers almost slipping past your sphincter. It's a foreign sensation but not unpleasant.

"You look ready," Tom says. "Now lube up Ty's cock."

You get your first look at the cock which is proportionate to the large black man. If it's bigger than your stool when you take a dump, you wonder if it can actually go up the other way in your ass. Your mind frets but your damn cock does push-ups.

"Alright, stand up and face the pallet. Move closer. Bend over it, let it support your upper body weight while you reach around and spread your ass cheeks for Ty. You smell that musty, earthy smell? The scent of those bags of potatoes will catch in your nose and you're always going to associate it with the time you got fucked in the ass in the grocery store. Your wife is going to ask you to peel potatoes some time and by the time you're done, you're going to need to take a carrot and some lube into the bathroom for some personal time. One look at you and your condition up front tells me how well you're going to get off on this."

That's part of what you're afraid of. The other part is the pain of the entry of that enormous dick into your rear end. You're in the ordered position and Ty isn't about to kiss you before he puts it in. You feel the warm, hard but strangely spongy cock-head dock with your anus. Ty rubs the tool around the hole for a few seconds before he begins to press earnestly against the yielding centre.

And yield it does. You moan as you feel your sphincter widen and envelop the very tip of the man's rod, then the full head of the cock pops in. Your eyes bulge as the pressure in your asshole triggers sensations similar to having to take a shit but with a less demanding and more pleasant resonance. Then a stab of pain shoots through your ass, passing quickly as Ty takes your groan of discomfort as enjoyment and thrusts deep into your hole, right to the stem of his cock. You feel it all: his cock filling you in a way you never knew you needed to be filled and the tickling of his pubic hair against the crack of your ass. It's a lot to take in, both physically and conceptually, and as he begins sawing back in forth inside you, you sigh and unload joyfully against the bags of potatoes.

Murph laughs. You look up and Tom grins at you.

"You come on the produce, you buy it. Now, move over. Murph needs his cock sucked and he's not going to lean against your wet spot."

You obey without thinking, still ecstatic at the rhythm in your ass and the aftershocks in your cock. The thought of sucking cock not only frightens you less than being fucked; it actually turns you on, no doubt as a result of your sensual heights. You thought coming would be a release, but you can feel yourself building again already, more turned on than you've ever been in your life.

"Now, how do you feel about this?"

You haven't been consulted much on your punishment so far. What can you say? You're aroused. You haven't enjoyed yourself this much sexually in ages. But six months ago, on a guys' night out, a gay man looked you over and you threatened to feed him his teeth. You feel bad enjoying this because you're making a fag of yourself and loving it.

"I'm alright."

"Yeah, I can tell that from your boner. I meant, are you prepared to suck cock without the whip topping?"

If you say yes, you're gay. Say no, and maybe you preserve some dignity, or at least hold onto the shreds of it.

"I need the whipped topping please."

"Ah, I thought maybe you were past that. Murph, I think you should put a big cherry on top of your cock sundae."

Murph, ready for his blowjob, runs off to the produce shelves to grab a bag of cherries. You, in the meantime, still feel a grunting black man heaving at your back side, his thrusts growing ever-deeper and more urgent, but he has the stamina of a bull and just keeps on going.

Murph returns with the cherries. He leans against the pallet of potatoes in front of you and unzips, yanks his drawers and underwear down in a single thrust so they're down around his knees, quickly dowses his hard seven inches in whipped cream from the can. With that done, he tosses the can to Tom and tears the bag of cherries open to get at the tasty fruit and place one on the head of his cloud-covered organ.

Heaven help you, you find the sight appetizing and arousing. What have you become in these short few minutes? A cock-hungry fiend fed dick at both ends and loving it. You lean in and start to lick the cream off Murph's cock. You're saving the cherry. The young man leans back over the pallet moaning as you treat yourself to tongue-laps full of white topping. When you have little choice but to consume the cherry, you take it in, back off while you chew it a moment and separate it from the pits. You spit them out indelicately after you swallow the bulk of the cherry. Then nothing can stop you, not the taste of pre-cum from Murph's cock, not the pace-setting thrusts in your ass. Murph is young and easily excited and you've been licking his cock-head and shaft for barely three minutes before he lets out a loud groan and comes in your mouth. Your taste buds dance with joy as the bitter cum unites with the cherry and whip topping aftertastes to give you a taste you never imagined. You almost come again. Your dick throbs intensely.

Ty has had a different experience. He's fucking a humbled white ass while being watched by his boss and observing his fuck-mate giving head to his young co-worker. Add to that the virgin tightness of the man's whole and the constant undulations of his orgasm and arousal and you have all the necessary ingredients to force a powerful ejaculation. Ty grunts three times before he lets go and stops holding back.

You feel your lower intestine flooded with hot cum even as the cock that exploded it inside you continues to fuck you. You have the taste of cum in your mouth. You have the experience of being watched and you're getting off on not only the gay sex but the humiliation of being used by guys who work for half your pay-rate, men you'd feel superior to in an ordinary social setting.

You want to come, you need to come. But your second orgasm needs your hands because you know these guys aren't going to give it to you. Or should you wait and throw one in the missus when you get home?

Ty pulls out without ceremony, shaking his dripping dick over your ass. You feel the drops of spent need land on you. They will dry like shrink wrap before you wash them off. Murph, having come, leans back, pulls up his pants and ducks away.

But that leaves Tom, you think. What does he have in store? And you're fully aware you're not dreading the answer anymore. You're fucking gay as fuck right now.

Ty and Murph buckle up and stand by Tom's side.

You, formerly on all fours between them, have stood up, leaned back in exhaustion against the pallet of potatoes and face them in complete nakedness. Your drooling, hard dick is on full display in its limited glory. Your beard is matted down with the residue of whipped cream and ejaculate.

"What should I do for you, Tom?"

"Wow, you have him begging for it," Ty said. Murph just grinned.

Tom crossed his arms. "I think you will make me come on your face. You're a married man from the look of that ring and you can wear my cum home. Explain that to the missus."

"Okay," you say, the picture of submission. You are already thinking of being humiliated before the wife you have always dominated. How might this change the standing between you?

"Get up on the pallet and lie on your back," Tom says.

You obey, awkwardly climbing the pallet. The vegetables in bags make a lumpy mattress. The night manager joins you so he is kneeling with his knees just below your armpits. With him taking this position, you can't spank your own cock even if you wanted to because your hands can't reach far enough around his legs. He undoes his fly and he's not wearing underwear. He lets his cock out. It is soft. You know it's up to you to harden it.

Ty tosses you the jar of coconut oil and you gratefully accept it, open it and lather your hand and Tom's seven-incher in the natural lubricant. Setting the jar aside, you begin to work with both hands on the night manager's member, using your right hand to massage the head of the cock while your thumb strokes the tip and the left hand to pump the shaft and massage the man's balls. The desired hardness is almost immediately evident and you feel your own erection throbbing again.

You find it awkward to try and lean your head up to suck him off, but you're willing to do so.

"Nah, stay comfortable. You're giving a good hand job and I don't want to go in your dirty mouth."

You're almost hurt when he says that but you're enjoying wanking him too much to get upset. It takes six minutes, with Ty and Murph cheering you on, to get Tom to take a sharp breath in, holding back his ejaculate, before letting his breath hiss out as he attains release all over your face. You feel the spots and stripes of viscous heat on your cheeks, in your hair, in your eyes and on your beard. You know that a mild breeze on your cock would be enough stimulation to make it spurt, but there is no breeze. You suffer in silence while Tom shakes his cock on your face.

Tom withdraws, climbing down off the pallet, leaving you lying there exhausted. But there's no sympathy for your state.

"Alright, get up and get off there. Get your clothes on. I need to let the guys out. And I still have to take a shit. If you stay there, I'll drop it down your neck."

That motivates you. You're not into that kind of play at all, not even in your secret self who you never met before tonight. By the time you're dressed and come up to the front of the store, Murph has checked out your whole grocery list and the surprise items you now need to pay for: the can of whipping cream, a bag of cherries, the jar of virgin coconut oil and four cum-spattered fifty-pound bags of potatoes.

Murph grins at you. "Did you find everything you were looking for today?"

You mumble that you did. You tap your debit card against the card reader and the payment is complete.

"Here's your receipt, sir." The cashier circles a code at the bottom of the receipt with a pen, still smiling. "That's the code for this transaction. If you go to our website, you can tell us how we served you tonight and enter for a chance to win a thousand customer appreciation loyalty points redeemable for free groceries."

Tom and Ty smirk at you, daring you to go to the website and tell your story. You already know you will comment on the special attention you received from the manager, the clerk and the cashier, but in a way that cloaks their actual personal service.

Tom makes you wait until his employees have clocked out before he unlocks the door and lets you out with them. Ty and Murph go their own separate ways. Tom gives you one minute to take the shopping cart to your car, transfer the items from the buggy to your trunk and bring the cart back. As you rush, the Pollack painting on your face is cold and beginning to itch on your skin.

You don't normally bring the cart back. You normally leave it in the parking lot. You are sure that's not the right play tonight.

You return the cart to the front door at the fifty-seven second mark, possibly just avoiding a shit sandwich.

Tom locks you out and thanks you for shopping at the store. Then he walks away, perhaps to finally used the rest room, or to lock the door and exit through the back where his car is likely parked.

You walk back to your car, open the trunk and in the pale light, you find a rag and use it to wipe the cum off the sacks of potatoes you bought that you can't quite explain to your wife, who will wonder what the hell they're going to do with two hundred pounds of potatoes. When you're sure you've got all the semen off the bags, you close the trunk and seat yourself in front of the wheel of your car. You flip down the sun visor and slide the panel covering the mirror to one side.

You're a sight. You try to wipe down your face as best you can with the rag, but the cum has left shiny snail trails on your cheeks and forehead and your beard is ratty with the sticky substance. Seeing yourself this way turns you on. You doubt your wife will see the appeal though.

When you get home, your wife will likely be watching TV in the living room. You might be able to get in the house and make it to the bathroom unseen. You don't want to explain your appearance to her. You don't even know a lie that would hide the smell of cock on your breath.

That's one problem.

Your mind has skipped ahead to another. Tomorrow, you know you will come back to the grocery store. You don't know what you will buy yet, other than virgin coconut oil and whipping cream, but you know that you will be back at three minutes to closing.

Because you know you're an asshole.

And assholes are for fucking.